I rode up the escalators that led into the dark maelstrom of Prive Nightclub staring at the back of a tall, tanned girl in a tight coral dress.
“He looks like Where’s Waldo!” The doorman, in a sleek suit and earpiece, commented in amusement to the girl. “He’s performing right now.”
“So rich, so pretty, the best piece of ass in the whole damn city … “ I can hear Mickey Avalon singing as soon as we step off the escalators. He could be singing about the girl in the coral dress, or, as I look around, at all the blonde skinny girls in slinky slips of black and silver and purple. Virtually everyone in Prive could fit his description.
Avalon is from Hollywood and the song is an ode to the Hollywood girl: spoiled senseless, rocking designer labels, driving a beamer, coked-up, snobby, bulimic and sexy as [email protected] Turns out the Prive crowd would do well in Hollywood.
Standing on a tiny stage, or maybe it’s just the back of a VIP table, Avalon’s thin torso is covered by a red-and-white striped T-shirt. His jeans hang low, exposing his white hips and the top of his groin. Oh yes, he’s got heroin chic sex appeal in spades, and the females are on the scent.
The girls are standing on the couches, bouncing to the beat and leaning into him. The guys are filming on their camera phones or just concentrating on getting smashed. Some are already swaying precariously, and I don’t think they will even remember that Avalon performed, unless their buddy catches it on film.
Avalon, who has been criss-crossing his tiny space and hanging off some large horn-shaped structure, starts shaking his hips like a woman to the recognizable first beats of “Jane Fonda” as the crowd screams with excitement. They know this song, and they like it—it’s easy to dance to, all about shaking and scoring ass.
His subject matter isn’t breaking any new ground in the hip-hop/rap genres, but Avalon is. His back story is as romantically tragic as any Hollywood legend, the kinds who live fast and die young: Born Yeshe Perle, a grandson of Holocaust survivors, Avalon’s father was a severe heroin addict who was killed by a drunk driver when Avalon was 19. His mother sold pot, a profession Avalon acquired at the age of 14; his sister committed suicide.
As a young adult, Avalon turned to prostitution to finance a burgeoning heroin habit. But after all this darkness, light came in the form of music. Avalon mixed beats in his friends’ houses as a teenager and was, like his father, an avid fan of rhythm and blues. After moving to L.A., MTV VJ Simon Rex (Dirt Nasty) befriended Avalon and encouraged his music.
With his growing fame came all the perks: record deals, recognition, wealth and especially the women. Avalon has amassed legions of avid fans and groupies, and he appreciates them—so much so that he tattooed “Thank you” across his abdomen in tribute to all the beautiful women he has bedded.
“Who that dude sleepin' with ya girlfriend/Gettin' nude and rude in your bed/Same dude that your sister like/Mickey Avalon, call me Mr. Right …”
You may love him or you may hate him, but Avalon isn’t going to stop getting it on and putting it in your face. The irreverent rapper will be back in Vegas in July for the Blazed and Confused Tour, along with Slightly Stoopid and Snoop Dogg. He’ll keep on coquettishly twirling his Jewish curls around his finger and unbuckling his belt provocatively as he sings his ridiculous, raunchy songs. And the girls—including me—will keep loving it.